


Best Remedy

by mightymads



Series: The private life of SH and JHW [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Holmes POV, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightymads/pseuds/mightymads
Summary: One cold March evening Watson’s old wounds bother him while Holmes feels somewhat under the weather. The best remedy is of course the Turkish bath.





	Best Remedy

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [VictorianHolmesKinkmemeRound01](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/VictorianHolmesKinkmemeRound01) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Holmes & Watson go to the Turkish baths. Tension...is relieved. (I think the baths are a great setting for a first-time fic but do whatever!)

Four hours which we spent crouching in the shrubbery, exposed to the icy drizzle and the biting March wind, left us drenched and chilled to the bone. Eventually our quarry walked directly into our ambush, and we apprehended Jack Brocket, one of the vilest swindlers I have encountered during my career. Lestrade drove off pleased with himself, since he would get all the credit, of course. For me a successfully concluded case is a reward in itself, and Watson never complains of inconveniences association with me causes him. As always, his help proved invaluable. I was aware yet again how fortunate I was to have him by my side. But it was easy to observe that exhaustion was taking its toll on my Watson: he was pressing his stiff left arm to his body unconsciously, and his tread was uneven, although he was trying his best to keep it steady. Before accompanying me, he had worked a full day in his surgery, and thus his energy was quite depleted.

We hailed a cab to go home. The thrill of adventure worn off, we huddled closer to each other for warmth, shivering in spite of ourselves. A nagging headache settled in my frontal lobe, my temples throbbing, and then there was tingling in my nose followed by a nasty bout of sneezing. I managed to take out my handkerchief just in time. Watson looked at me with concern and felt my forehead.

“No fever,” he muttered, relieved a little. “You must soak your feet as soon as we return, and I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson for some chicken soup. It will warm you up thoroughly.”

“Stop fussing, Watson, I’m all right,” I said and sneezed once more.

“Or there is a better remedy,” he continued, ignoring my retort. “The Turkish bath.”

That was actually a good idea. Hot dry air would chase away the pain from Watson’s old wounds.

We ordered the cabby to drive us to Northumberland Avenue instead and soon were at the entrance of a magnificent building designed in the Italian Classic style. A truly epicurean establishment, inside it was as luxurious as outside, with its lofty halls, marble fountains, and low, ornate sofas. Whenever Watson and I wished to indulge our senses, that was the place.

The proprietor himself, as spry and dandyish as ever, greeted us from behind the counter when we entered the reception room. He was a good acquaintance of ours and a former client. A few years ago we had helped him to untangle a delicate matter which otherwise would have produced a grievous effect upon his thriving business.

“Good evening, gentlemen, and welcome.” James Neville bowed his head slightly. “As usual, I believe?”

Watson and I tipped our hats.

“We would like the quiet option tonight, Mr. Neville,” I said.

“I see,” he said with a twinkling look in his dark beady eyes.

“Could a light supper be arranged afterwards?” Watson asked.

“Of course.” Neville smiled and glanced at one of his assistants who hurried off with the errand at once.

We paid and were ushered past the main staircase and a crowded lounge to a secluded wing with private suites. Fortunately, the one which we always engaged wasn’t occupied. A rich scent of sandalwood, cypress, and musk permeated the air of the cosy, semi-dark cooling-room where we had reposed on many occasions, wearied by an eventful day or when we desired a distraction from commonplaces of existence. Having removed our boots by the door, we stepped onto the thick carpet which was a joy to our tired feet. Watson closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the sensation of softness. We took off our hats and coats, hung them on the rack, and put our valuables, including Watson’s pistol, into the safe beside it. Watson dropped onto the opulent Eastern divan and stretched his legs with a sigh.

“There, I don’t think I can move from this spot,” he announced.

“Oh, you can and you shall,” I said as I proceeded with undressing myself.

He watched me with heavy-lidded eyes, following the movements of my fingers as I was undoing my necktie and collar and then unbuttoning my waistcoat and shirt. My headache abated somewhat; my heart was beating faster under his gaze raking over my body. I sauntered closer to him and stripped in a slow, graceful manner. Teasing him stirred my blood, warmth spreading along my chest and neck and rushing to my groin. John had a catching of breath when I shed my trousers and drawers and stood in front of him completely nude, as Nature had created me. I hadn’t perceived myself as beautiful before we became lovers, yet the way he looks at me and speaks to me, the way he touches me and describes me in his writings made me feel it. It is wonderous.

I was already at a half-stand from having his rapt attention fixed upon me. He licked his lips and swallowed, the bulge between his legs growing. Not taking his eyes off me, he disrobed with quick efficiency of a military man. Smiling, I reached out and pulled him up to his feet. He leaned forward to kiss me, but I slipped away from him and made for the warm room where the air was sultry and relaxing. The stone floor, the tiled mosaic walls and ceiling—every surface in the room gave off dry, healing heat, exactly what we both needed.

My Watson joined me, and having reclined on a marble seat, we kissed at leisure. Then languor caught up with us, so we rested, sweating copiously. I savoured John’s scent and the sensation of his skin against mine. In the common rooms it wouldn’t be prudent to gaze overtly at his body glistening with perspiration. Here I didn’t have to restrain myself, admiring the curve of his neck, his chest with a smattering of gold-brown hair, his taut belly, his narrow loins and sturdy legs.

He propped himself up by his left arm and hissed in pain as cramps ran through his shoulder. I helped him into a comfortable position and kneaded the area around his bullet scar, pressing gently at the knot just above his shoulder blade until the tension melted away and John sighed with relief.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

I continued the massage, moving to his collarbone, where there was another scar: the entry point of the bullet. As my fingertips slid over its rough surface, a thought crossed my mind. Half an inch down, and the subclavian artery would have been ruptured, not grazed. He would have bled out before he was brought to the British lines. We would have never met.

“Don’t think about it, Sherlock. Don’t think at all. Just live the present moment, love,” John said softly.

In his stories he presents with dramatic flair my ability to tell what’s on his mind. He doesn’t mention, though, that he often reads me as easily. I kissed his shoulder. We had chosen this life for ourselves, sharing dangers being one of the appeals.

He groaned in pleasure as I worked on his back. Upon his return from Afghanistan he had been skin and bone, but now he was all muscle and sinew under my palms. I have always loved touching him, and now that I can do it to my heart’s content, I cannot get enough. By the time he lay down to let me tend to his legs, he was completely lax save for his erect member which stood up proudly, engorged and flushed pink. I was just as hard for him, massaging his thighs and resisting the temptation to wrap my fingers around his gorgeous cock. Then I gave my full attention to his calves and especially his ankles, for his damaged tendo Achillis was bothering him.

“God, you’re spoiling me,” John drawled, sighing. “Let me return the favour.”

“Next time,” I replied. “Do enjoy yourself.”

“Maybe call in a masseuse later, when we are decent?”

“No, you know I don’t like being touched by strangers.”

“All right then.”

He turned onto his stomach and parted his legs slightly. The invitation was impossible to withstand, so I climbed on top of him and pressed myself to him. Sweat was pouring from us as I rubbed my prick along the cleft of his arse and then pushed it between his thighs. He welcomed my thrusts with contented grunts; his inner thighs were hot and moist, and his scrotum against my prick just perfect. Tension was growing in him quickly, and I could feel the first tremors in his body beneath mine. A quick release after a long day would do him good indeed. An extended pleasure would be sweeter still. I paused, catching my breath.

“Why did you stop?” John asked, his voice thick and husky.

“Because the therapeutic effect must be enhanced, Doctor,” I said with my lips against his ear.

It took all my willpower to withdraw and rise.

“You infernal tease,” he grumbled but followed me nonetheless—I can always count on that.

“You’ll thank me later,” I assured him.

In the hot room we lounged side by side, our hearts pounding. John’s wet hair stuck to his forehead, sweat trickling down his eyebrows and moustache. Being more accustomed to high temperatures, he bore the heat better than me, though, for I felt like I was about to melt. Yet it was necessary to expel the remains of our ailments. We kissed and frigged each other lazily, too languid for anything more. After a while, giving my pulsing cock an affectionate squeeze, John declared that the maximum therapeutic effect was achieved. I was only glad to defer to his professional opinion.

We retreated to the washing-room where we filled a large brass basin with warm water and lathered up fragrant beldi soap. Having settled down on a wooden bench, we scrubbed each other thoroughly until we were covered in the creamy foam from head to foot. I cleansed my entrance which required little preparation due to the vigorous intimacy we had had recently. Vaseline was on the shelf next to essential oils and clean towels—in this establishment everything was well thought of.

I had John lie back on the bench and put a folded towel under his head. He gazed at me playfully, having a clear idea of my plan. I ran my fingers along his rigid cock, smearing it with vaseline; then I straddled him and guided his member inside me. We both moaned as it pressed home while I was descending slowly. His thick girth met almost no resistance, for my hole was still stretched and pliant from the night before. We settled into a steady rhythm which had become so comforting and anchoring for us over the years. I caressed John’s chest, foam gathering between my fingers, his pert nipples tickling my palms. John closed his hand around my prick and frigged me in long, loving strokes as we undulated our hips. I moved harder, taking him in deeper with each push, and then John was cursing under his breath. His release triggered mine; we kept riding out our climax together until we were both completely spent.

“By Jove, you were right. It was worth the wait,” John said a few minutes later, his relaxed features all aglow.

I just chuckled. Our therapeutic measures had proved most effective, for there was no stiffness left in any part of his body whatsoever. My symptoms of cold had been nipped in the bud.

We washed under the refreshing jets of the shower and agreed to refrain from the plunge into the pool. Obviously, we were in no condition to be seen.

Having wrapped ourselves into sheets, we went back to the cooling-room. Supper was already served on the small table by the sofa. The smell emanating from under the dish covers was exquisite. My Watson rubbed his hands eagerly. He was happy, and nothing could please me more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to scfrankles for compiling [a masterlist with historical references](https://sherlock60.livejournal.com/743050.html)! I took all info about the Northumberland Avenue Turkish bath from there.


End file.
